


No Navigator (To Find My Way Home)

by wendybirb



Category: South Park
Genre: Bad Jokes, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 23:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6879022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendybirb/pseuds/wendybirb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It happened every time Craig came over after a particularly bad fight with his parents. Craig escaped to Kenny's house, and Kenny cheered him up with bad jokes.</p>
<p>Originally published June 10, 2013</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Navigator (To Find My Way Home)

As soon as his truck hit the curb in front of the McCormick household, Craig Tucker was shoving it in park, the keys tucked haphazardly in the visor before he hauled it outside into the frigid air and up to the front door, knocking impatiently and praying to every nonexistent god in their shitass universe that McCormick was actually home.

And gods be praised, he was, opening the door not quite a minute later to a very angry, tired, and beat up looking Tucker.

He didn't say a word, just stepped aside and let Craig make his own way in. It had become a routine for them. No more gushing over wounds, no more questions, just get out of the way, offer a place to stay, maybe some food, and shut the fuck up.

Kenny didn't even need to ask to know who had caused the bruise still forming on Craig's cheek. All routine. He offered Craig an icepack and a glass of water all the same, leading him back to his bedroom and closing the door.

"How long do you need?"

"A couple days." Craig didn't say more after that, focusing instead on icing his bruise. Kenny fell silent as well, sitting on the bed next to Craig and leaning back on his hands, looking to be deep in thought.

"Hey Craig? What kind of bees produce milk?"

Craig just stared, an eyebrow raised before shrugging his shoulders. "Hell if I know."

"Boobies."

Kenny was met with an incredulous stare for a solid minute. "Okay, okay. What's the difference between oral and anal sex?"

Craig didn't answer, just looking at Kenny expectantly.

"One makes your day, and the other makes your hole weak."

Craig attempted a straight face but failed miserably, a slight grin quickly turning into full on laughter.

"Why did the boy fall off the swing?"

Craig cleared his throat, giving a slight shrug.

"He didn't have any arms."

"Dude, you're fucking awful."

"Hey, you still laughed." And Kenny was right. Craig couldn't help it. Kenny had found his one weakness a long time ago: horrible, god awful jokes. He just couldn't resist laughing at them.

And so Kenny couldn't resist using them against him. It happened every time Craig came over after a particularly bad fight with his parents. Craig escaped to Kenny's house, and Kenny cheered him up with bad jokes. This time though just felt different. Craig could feel a tension hanging in the air that he hadn't felt before, and he knew he was just a little too tired, a little too impatient.

But in the end he didn't even know how it happened. One minute it was joking and laughter, and one wrong statement later, they were screaming. Kenny was off the bed and across the room, the lighting from the lamp on his desk throwing crazy shadows across his face, making him look more menacing than he actually was. His face was contorted in a look of pure anger, something that should have made Craig choose his words more carefully but didn't stop him in the slightest.

Craig felt the heat radiating off his face in waves and had to fight to force down the growl that was trying to tear its way out of his throat. He was yelling words, angry words, words that he didn't even understand, that he knew he was yelling in the heat of the moment. And he tried to stop them, by God did he try, but it was as if the connection between his mouth and his brain had short-circuited. All he knew was that he was taking every horrible word, every obscenity, every insult he could, and he was rolling them in a ball and hurling them toward Kenny, aiming for where it would hurt most. He was tearing into him, and, for one horrible second, he realized that he didn't care in the slightest. He was angry, and he wanted Kenny to feel it. He wanted to hurt him.

He also realized that Kenny was doing the exact same thing to him. Their words melded together to form a red cloud of rage that Craig could have sworn was tangible. He could see it swirling around their heads, like a demon, poking and prodding at them, goading them on.

Craig's head swirled from the screaming. He felt like passing out, but he couldn't stop. He kept shouting every insult imaginable, hoping that one would tear Kenny wide open.

Craig stopped abruptly when he realized that Kenny had gone dead silent. He was breathing heavily and his hands were balled into fists. Craig thought back, trying to remember what he had said, but his brain was still running on pure rage, all logic and reason cast aside in a heap. He almost didn't react in time when Kenny grabbed a mug off his dresser and threw it hard at his head. He ducked to the right and heard it shatter somewhere behind him.

Something clicked in Craig's head then. He looked back at Kenny, his eyes wide and his heart beating like a racehorse inside his chest. His breathing was ragged, and he couldn't decipher the look on Kenny' face. Craig just stared, watching his chest rise and fall harshly, the anger in his face receding slowly.

Craig only had enough time to see Kenny's pupils dilate before Kenny was on him. Hands tangled in Craig's hair and mouths crashed together painfully before Craig had a chance to blink. Craig squeezed his eyes shut, his hands gripping the back of Kenny's shirt tightly.

He didn't even realize they were moving until the backs of his legs hit the bed and he sprawled backwards, dragging Kenny down with him. He could taste blood in his mouth and wondered whose it was before finally coming to his senses enough to push Kenny off him.

Kenny blinked down at him, his eyes slowly coming back into focus as Craig stared right back at him. They just lay like that for a while in silence until Kenny brought his thumb up and swiped it across Craig's bottom lip.

Craig quirked an eyebrow in question. "You're bleeding."

"Oh." Craig thought his own voice sounded shaky and hoped that Kenny didn't notice.

If he did, he didn't comment on it, choosing instead to brush his fingertips across Craig's cheek, over the bruise his dad had left earlier, his gentle touches a sharp contrast to the harsh words from moments ago.

As soon as he was there, however, he was gone, his hand quickly retracted and his body up off Craig in a second.

He didn't go far, only standing about a foot away from the bed, watching Craig, waiting for something to break the silence.

Craig didn't say a word. He merely sat up, wiping at his bloodied lip and staring down at his shoes, vaguely registering somewhere in his mind that the right one was untied. He couldn't bring himself to care though, his mind a jumbled mess of instant replays and "holy shit what the fuck just happened."

All he knew at that moment was that he was tired, so very tired. Tired enough to almost not notice the gentle hand on his shoulder, but he did notice it, his gaze flicking up to rest on the owner.

Kenny was looking right back at him, and Craig noticed that he looked so very tired as well, but not the same kind of tired. Kenny looked physically tired, like the kind when you don't get enough sleep over a long period of time, while Craig could feel his tiredness taking over his every mental faculty, could feel it in his _bones._

But he didn't want to think about that anymore, so he stopped, his eyes focusing instead on the circles beneath Kenny's eyes, how his eyes stood out even bluer in contrast.

He just kept staring, not picking up on anything Kenny said until the blonde's hands were circled around his wrists, tugging him up from his sitting position and pulling him out of the room.

"Let's get out of here," and Craig didn't have the mind to say anything, whether in agreement or otherwise. So he didn't say anything at all, letting Kenny pull him out of the house and into Craig's shitty pickup.

Kenny clambered into the driver's side without asking permission, not that Craig cared either way, and flipped the visor down to grab the keys, shoving them in the ignition, and starting the truck, only a little persuasion from the gas pedal necessary.

Craig could feel the truck rumbling beneath him, his face pressed against the window, eyes following snippets of scenery as they passed. Every once in a while, his mind woke up enough for him to read a sign or billboard, all of them meaningless, or see a passing figure, no one important, but for the most part he passively stared, not taking in anything and thinking nothing at all.

He didn't know how long they had been going or where they were going to end up, but his mind wouldn't allow him to care about that either. All he knew was that he trusted Kenny, trusted him with his life for all that was worth.

He wondered for a second if Kenny felt the same way about him, but couldn't bring himself to ask. He was too tired for talking anyway, too goddamn tired.

It felt like they had been driving for years, the truck too silent and the road too bumpy and the air just too chilly for it to be anywhere near comfortable, but finally Kenny pulled the truck to a stop, turning it off and looking over at Craig, Craig who still had nothing to say, choosing instead to look right back.

"We're here." Kenny didn't say anything else after that, sticking the keys in his pocket and hopping out of the truck before moving to Craig's side and opening the door for him.

Like a modern fucking gentleman.

"Where's here?" Craig didn't wait for an answer, didn't really need to, climbing out of the truck to stand near Kenny.

"You'll see." Kenny grabbed his hand this time, pulling him toward a small clearing in the trees, a picnic table quickly coming into view.

"What the hell is this?"

"Somewhere that isn't home." He said it so matter-of-factly, moving forward to push all the snow off the table before climbing up and sitting cross-legged, patting the spot next to him.

Craig rolled his eyes and shook his head but still complied, sitting on the table a little ways from where Kenny sat.

They sat in silence for what seemed to Craig like forever and a day, Kenny staring up at the stars and Craig staring somewhere off into the surrounding woods before Kenny finally broke the silence by shifting his position, stretching out to lay on his back across the table top, his legs bent at the knees and hanging off the edge.

Craig sat there watching him for a short time before copying his position from the opposite end, his head coming to rest next to Kenny's.

Craig's gaze aimed upwards toward the night sky, and he couldn't help thinking it was rather peaceful. No yelling, no doors being slammed, nothing being thrown, no stomping footsteps. Just the sound of Kenny's quiet breathing next to him. He figured he could probably really get used to this.

He then felt Kenny's head move to rest against his, his hair brushing against Craig's neck and his skin warm where it met with Craig's.

Craig glanced over at Kenny, Kenny's gaze still focused on the stars, looking so innocent and alive and so untired and Craig really wanted to hate him for being able to look all these things that he himself would never have again.

But he couldn't. If there was one thing Craig Tucker could not do, that was hate Kenny McCormick. He could pretend, oh man could he pretend, but he knew it would never be true.

But then he felt the tiredness seep into his thoughts again, so he put a stop to those, trying instead to focus on the slow, steady breathing of the person next to him.

He focused until the sound and the warmth enveloped him, blocking out all the nasty thoughts from the day and the day before, and hell, maybe even the day before that. And that got him through just fine for the few hours they were there.

Eventually it got too cold, forcing them right back to the truck where Kenny decided it would be a better idea to stay there for the night, huddled together in the back seat with their coats draped over them both, bodies wrapped together for warmth, than it would be to go back home.

Craig didn't disagree.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from Learning to Fly by Pink Floyd


End file.
